


Coming Out Is Easy to Do

by shadesofhades



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coming Out, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofhades/pseuds/shadesofhades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean accidentally comes out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Out Is Easy to Do

Dean doesn't know what possesses him, and well, he'd honestly love to say it was a demon of some sort, some dark demonic force that spills forth the words, but he'd be lying. If only it was some demonic joy ride with his body as a vessel, because he really has no excuse otherwise.

They're all sitting in a diner together, the three of them, because they've been on the road for two days already now, and for once Sam and Dean aren't holed up in some crappy little motel room while their father is off killing god knows what. But they're together, and with the cute waiter that Dean can't stop staring at because he has one of the sexiest asses Dean's ever seen in his life, and Dean can't help but think that little swagger in his step is for him because the other guy throws a smile over his shoulder when he realizes Dean's watching him walk away. The muscles in his ass flex with each step--

But then the waiter is sliding a slice of their freshly baked pie in front of him and it just gushes out of him, sudden and explosive like a geyser.

"I'm gay!"

He doesn't know why he says it and he knows there's no way to take it back. Dean's never been so embarrassed in his life when the waiter pulls his hand back, stands up straight and just laughs. He can feel his entire face on fire all the way up and past his hairline, and he sinks as low as he can into the booth, his knees knocking into his father's across from him. His father, who is staring at him like he's just grown a second head or started speaking in tongues, his fork frozen inches from his mouth while syrup dribbles onto the plate below.

After a few moments longer, his dad sets his fork down and pushes his plate away from him, his face pulling into a grimace.

Dean doesn't know if the loss of appetite is from surprise or his suddenly queer son, but Dean's praying for the former and dreading the impending likeliness of the later.

"You can't be gay," and aw, shit, Dean never thought his Dad would actually disown him, but it's sure as shit looking like a definite possibility. But when Dean chances to look up, his father's face isn't angry at all. Actually he just looks confused. Baffled even, as if this so unthinkable that he just can't wrap his mind around it.

"You _can't_ be gay, Dean."

There's a protest right on the tip of Sam's tongue that comes with that statement, Dean can feel it in the sudden tension in the air. After all, Sam's at the height of his teenage rebellion, but the argument that he's expecting dies when their father says,

"I've _caught_ you with girls, Dean. Rather recently too."

So, he may have a point. Because Dean does like girls, he really does... just not as much as he likes guys sometimes. But it's not like that's as easy to say as, "I'm gay." It doesn't quite roll off the tongue the same way, or really have the desired impact on those who are hearing it. Except that, in this case, there was no desired impact since no one was ever _supposed_ to hear it.

"Well, sometimes -- well, maybe more than sometimes -- I like guys too," Dean says, just hoping that elaborating won't be necessary because he doesn't think he can explain any better than that to his father, of all people. Sure, maybe to Sam, just to get a rise out of him, but it would be different to tell Dad. After all, Dean's reasons of _sometimes I like a dick inside of me_ , aren't exactly parent friendly. But he can tell by the questioning look on his father's face that the explanation may still be in line.

"He means he's bisexual, Dad," Sammy tells him with a snort before he can even open his mouth to respond.

"You knew about this?" Dad asks, turning his eyes to Sam now, who perks up in his seat, clearly looking for a fight, Dean just wishes it wasn't his sexuality he was using to fuel the fire.

"You're probably the last person to know. I mean, anyone who pays more than five seconds of attention to Dean can tell he swings any which way so long as they're warm and willing."

Dean groans and hides his face behind his hands, "Aw, come on, Sammy, you make me sound easy."

Sam just rolls his eyes and pushes Dean a little in the small booth, "You _are_ easy, Dean."

"How many?" Their dad interrupts before the brotherly banter gets out of control, his face looking a little pale as he stares at Dean, probably trying to process exactly what he's being told, and definitely trying to ignore Sammy's jab at his parenting skills.

"How many what?" Dean questions before he can actually think on what he's being asked, and when it finally hits him like a slap in the face, he doesn't _really_ need his father's answer of:

"How many men, Dean?" because he's pretty much mortified at being asked by his dad of all people about how many people he's slept with, especially when it comes to guys.

At first he's just silent, staring at his father, and he's pretty sure he has a bright blush spreading over his features, because his face feels hot at the eye contact. Then he just can't take it anymore, muttering a soft and _truthful,_ "I don't know." Because he really has no fucking clue, not even a rough estimate. He's never really taken the time to count before, and although his tangos with men have happened with considerably less frequency than with the willing women they meet at truck stops and diners, not to mention the ones he easily fools around with at school, it doesn't make the total any less incriminating.

Maybe it would be less extreme of Dean to throw out a number like thirty-five or more, if his father had at least some time to adjust to the idea of him liking men (well, for longer than five minutes). Of course, the situation would only be made worse if Dad knew that most of them had been twice Dean's age, and that maybe a few times they had paid Dean to do things he normally wouldn't, never mind the fact that he had been on the receiving end in, probably in reality, more than half of the times.

He decides, in the end, that this information may be a bit over-the-top given his father's bloodless face and desperate eyes, so he lowers the number significantly, but not so much that he doesn't think Sam will believe him, after all, Sam is a squealer. If he knows that Dean likes men, then who knows what else he might know that Dean doesn't realize he does.

"Maybe twelve," Dean says with a shrug, hoping to act casual, but he can't hide the way his voice breaks over the number like his body just can't let him lie so blatantly. Clearly though, lowering the number was the right thing to do, because if anything his father gets paler, and Dean's really afraid he's going to faint at finding out just how much of a player his son really is. And for the wrong team too.

"Did you... I mean..."

His father starts and stops several times before he closes his eyes, and Dean can see him drawing a deep breath, trying to steady himself for this conversation, and Dean hopes it's not going where he thinks it's going to go... Though he hopes it won't be something along the lines of, 'Did you take it from all those men, Dean? Did you bend over like the little whore I know you are?'

Of course the answer's yes. And maybe, in a way, he wants his dad to say it like that, wants to be treated badly for the way he's acted in the past, to be denied that part of him, because he wants to stop. He won't stop liking guys, that is far too ingrained in his very being now, being gay is just who he is, but he hopes that if Dad says it like that, like he's a whore, maybe Dean will stop bending over for guys in dirty bar bathrooms, in back alleys.

Or maybe, if Dad can accept Dean, can accept this is the way he is and that nothing he's going to say will change that, then maybe, maybe it could be different. No more filthy men's rooms and interstate restroom stalls, no more cruising for a quick fuck at a bar when Dad's not around to judge him, to complicate things. Maybe it could be like what he has with women, easy-going, choosing who he wants to fuck and who fucks him instead of waiting until he's so desperate to be with a man that he just stops caring.

Dean doesn't really know what he wants, but in the end it doesn't matter because the question his father asks has nothing to do with Dean's sordid past, the one that may have bordered on underage prostitution.

"How long has this been going on?" his father asks as he licks his lips as if nervous about Dean's answer. And Dean figures he probably should be, because it won't make his father proud, that's for sure. He's barely able to admit it to himself. After all, his first time with a boy was almost a year before his first time with a girl.

"Since the first time Billy Barns kissed me when I was thirteen," Dean answers truthfully, not able to look his father in the eyes anymore, instead his eyes stare blankly down at his plate, still full of pie, completely untouched, and, Dean realizes with an ache, that he doesn't even really want to eat it anymore. He does it anyway, picking up his fork and slicing into it, looking for anything to occupy his mind from wandering back to that day behind the bleachers when Billy had gripped Dean's face and brought their lips together.

Dean had kissed girls before that day, and he knew he liked it, but the idea of kissing a boy... The thought had never ever occurred to him before. Maybe it's because Dean had never really been close to another boy other than Sammy before, or maybe it was just that they were more than a little high from the joint they had shared, putting completely foreign ideas in his head, but when Billy pushed him back against the wooden benches of bleachers, his head hitting the step above him, it just seemed to make sense. So he went with it. He never thought that he'd stay in the school long enough to do anything beyond sneaking out of class for heated make-out sessions, but they had stayed longer there than in any other school and things had quickly progressed to mutual jerk-off sessions and handjobs. He hadn't gone all the way then, though he'd been very close to dropping to his knees for Billy, but it had implanted the idea, the knowledge that men could make him feel good too, and they were just as willing to kiss him as women.

It wasn't until months later though, when they had moved on to a new state, that Dean had found himself on his back, so to speak, panting beneath the hands of a high schooler two years his senior in the last stall in the boys' bathroom. It had been uncomfortable, Dean riding the other boy while he straddled him over the toilet, but the experience had left a deep impression on his mind, and for a long while, he didn't want anything else.

It wasn't until much later that he had met Janice Macy -- a petite blonde girl with the body and face of a supermodel and a rack to match -- that Dean had become interested in girls again, and even then, the attraction was fleeting when the relationships became over-complicated and Dean lost interest in them. If it had not been easier to keep up appearances with Sam and Dad, he probably would have just called off the whole girl thing. It was so much easier with men. They didn't care if you had no emotional connection with them. They were, for the most part, no strings attached. That's always worked better for Dean, what with moving to a new city so often, though it doesn't mean he doesn't miss a girl's soft curves now and again.

"That's a long time," is all Dad murmurs in response as if just trying to fill in the silence. It draws Dean out of his thoughts and back to what is happening in the now, a bite of pie just an inch from his lips and probably looking to all the world like he's a little slow, with a fork full of food in front of his face and never putting it in his mouth for what Dean figures has probably been over ten minutes now. Maybe that's an exaggeration, he doesn't really know, but it certainly feels like time has slowed down since they started this uncomfortable conversation.

He finally sighs and sets the fork back down on his plate, the pie still untouched except for the piece he cut, before he pushes it away from him, his appetite gone.

When he looks up at his father though, he can feel all the blood rush from his face, because his father's looking at him with a strange expression, a mixture of dread and curiosity, his face a little flushed from what, as far as Dean can tell, is embarrassment. It's definitely a look he never thought he'd see on his father's face, and when he opens his mouth to speak, Dean's pretty sure whatever he has to say is going to be completely mortifying.

"Do you use protection?"

Dean feels himself blush bright crimson, his face so hot at the question that Dean doesn't understand how he doesn't just spontaneously combust right in the booth of the crappy little diner, right next to Sammy.

"Yes," Dean does manage to squeak out after a few beats of silence.

To his relief though, his father doesn't press the issue any further, instead just nodding once before he says, "Okay," and goes back to his pancakes.

"Okay?" Dean says after a moment, not really knowing exactly what the hell _okay_ meant, though he's hopeful that it means that they're okay, that Dad's okay with Dean's lifestyle.

"Yeah," is all Dad says before he smiles at Dean, a wide, true smile, the first one he's seen in years, lighting up his father's face with affection before he reaches across the table to ruffle Dean's hair.

Dean huffs before his father continues with, "You better eat your pie. You're not going to get his phone number if you don't at least _pretend_ to enjoy his gift."

Their waiter catches his eye as he walks by, smiling at Dean with a wink, his hands full of plates filled to the brim with burgers and fries for a couple behind them, and Dean can't help but smile back, plastering on his best charming grin, before he pushes Sammy out of the booth so he can get out and work his magic.

Dean never thought he'd spill his guts to Dad like that, and definitely, in the few fleeting moments that he _actually entertained_ the idea of coming out to his father, he never ever in a million years thought that his father might be even remotely okay with it. In the end, demonic-thrill ride or not, he's kind of glad it happened, because a sense of relief washes over him as he corners the cute waiter (named Billy, ironically enough) and slowly starts to realize that this is _okay_ , that Dean doesn't have to hide this from them anymore.

He knows it's not going to last, probably not even until the end of the week or even more likely, the end of this day, but for the first time in a long time, with the three of them at this shitty little hole-in-the-wall restaurant eating flavored-grease off cracked plates with mismatched silverware, and Dean's pocket heavy with the waiter's phone number, it actually feels like they're a family.

 

THE END.


End file.
